A Plethora of Iggy Oneshots
by Edna Baudelaire
Summary: Doesn't the title explain it all? My goal is to reach 100.
1. Author's NoteExplanation

**Note**: So, I have decided to do a Plethora of Iggy Oneshots, as the title claims. I promised my supportive readers that once I reached 100 reviews on my Iggy fic, _What Kind of Fairy Tale is This_?, that I would spew out some Iggy oneshots for them. And what better way to reward 100 reviews with 100 oneshots? Crazy, I know. But I'll try.

So you have to know that none of the chapters will relate to each other. They'll be as random as possible. One chapter might be an Iggy/Ella oneshot, whilst the next one might be about Iggy waking up blind. You don't have to read a certain chapter to read another, so skip around if you want, do a little dance :D

I'll have something for every type of reader out there. Some of the oneshots will be humorous, whilst others will be romantic. I'll even throw in some adventure and maybe a parody here or there. I hope you enjoy my plethora of Iggy oneshots and if you do, please review. They make me feel all fuzzy inside.

Oh, and if you want to see an Iggy oneshot written by yours truly, just submit it in a review and I will get right on it. God knows I need help coming up with 100 oneshot ideas...

Disclaimer: I don't own any members of the flock, no matter how hard I fight in court, or how many times I have broken into JP's house...*grumbles*

Anyways, I hope you enjoy these oneshots as much as I enjoyed writing them :D

Just click on chapter one to begin.

Edna B.


	2. 1 Iggy and a Baby

Iggy and a Baby

_What Could Possibly Go Wrong?_

By: Edna Baudelaire

Oneshot Number: 1

Note: This is set when the Flock is a tad bit older. Iggy is maybe 20..21_ish. _Max and Fang had a baby, and they ask the blind kid to babysit. Don't ask why...

Enjoy:

**Iggy's POV**

"Bri's diapers are located at 3 o'clock, 23 degrees north and her bottles are 9 o'clock, 54 degrees south in the left cabinet-" Max rambled on, occasionally opening closet doors and shoving baby toys and necessities into my waiting arms. But all I could think about was: diapers?

How was a blind guy supposed to change a diaper?

I snapped out of my trance when Max's fingers snapped in front of my face.

"Are you even listening to me?" she asked, impatience dripping from her voice like fresh honey. "I told you, Fang. We should have asked Nudge or Angel-"

"He'll do fine," Fang assured her, planting a light kiss on her forehead before patting my shoulder sympathetically. "Iggy can kill 5 Erasers at once and you can't trust him to watch our daughter?"

Max huffed, lightly placing Bri in my arms. She squirmed uncomfortably. "Fine. Iggy, if you need anything or if anything goes wrong, you know our cell numbers. And I swear, if anything, I mean _anything_ catches on fire-"

"Don't worry!" I exclaimed, holding my hands up. "Everything will be fine! You two go have fun on your date. Don't worry about me. You can trust me."

"Right," Max said, her mouth dry. They both gave their daughter a gentle kiss on the forehead before shuffling out the door, the keys rattling in their hands.

Then it got quiet.

And it was just me, and a heavy, writhing bird baby child...thing in my arms. Her small wings fluttered lightly, flapping against my face. Yukk.

I set her down on the floor. "Uh...what do you want to do, baby?" If you couldn't tell by now, I'm not the fatherly type of guy. Never really saw the appeal in a small chubby life form that cried and pooped throughout the duration of its first 10 years on the earth. I didn't think _anyone_ could want that...

I was about to ask again, not really understanding why I expected an answer in the first place, when Bri opened her mouth and howled, tears pouring from her tiny eyes.

"Mama! Babba!"

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, scooping her in my arms, attempting to cradle her, but then feeling foolish and resorting to putting her back on the floor.

She was still crying.

Why the hell did I agree to this?

I don't know kids.

I don't _like_ kids.

What did I get myself into now?

Bri's screeching slowly got louder, causing my eardrums to pound against my brain. I could feel the beginnings of an uncomfortable headache creeping up...

"Mama! Babba!" she cried, pounding her tiny fists upon the floor.

"Mama and Babba went out! They'll be home soon!" I explained, halfheartedly. She continued to cry.

"No!" she wailed, wiping away her tears. "I wan' Mama and Babba!"

"They'll be home soon sweetie. Right now, we get to have fun! Eh? How about that? You want something to eat? An apple?"

"No." Her sobs retreated, transforming into small sniffles.

"An orange?"

"No."

"A banana?"

"No."

OK. I get it. This kid didn't like fruit.

"What do you want?"

She thought for a moment. "Paw-stik-uh," she stuttered.

Hang on, let me clean out my ears...OK. "What?"

"Pawp-stik-ull!"

Oh.

"Popsicle?" I asked.

"Yee!" she yelled, my eardrums almost shattering.

I scooped her up, and plopped her gently on the kitchen counter. "One Pawp-stik-ull, coming right up!" I rummaged through the freezer, my teeth chattering as my fingers delicately fluttered over the frozen foods. I removed the popsicles, feeling like I was performing surgery, delicately removing it from the frozen stacks of boxes and bags. I plopped it on the counter, snaking my arm around Bri's body, making sure she was still there and not...dead on the floor.

She was there.

Thank God.

"What color do you want?" I asked.

"Lee-low!" she squealed.

Damn, would I ever learn how to speak baby?

"What?" I asked, scratching my head. Her small childish hand smacked my shoulder and because she inherited our strength, I have to admit, it stung a little.

"Ow!" I explained.

"Lee-low!" she commanded. Man, she was so much like Max. So bossy...

"OK! OK! I get it! Yellow! Here you go, you little squirt." I handed her a yellow one, after running my hand through the box, feeling the array of colors.

"Gabba!" she squealed, sticking the frozen juice in her mouth. I could already hear it dripping down her chin and onto the counter.

"Damn," I said, reaching over for a paper towel.

"Damn," she repeated.

I froze. "No, Bri. Don't say that."

"Damn."

"Bri-"

"Damn!"

"Say it one more time, and I'll take away your popsicle!" I warned.

Silence.

"Damn!" She giggled, dripping more yellow juice on the counter.

"I warned you," I said as I snatched the popsicle from her hands.

Wrong move.

I thought she was loud before, but that was nothing compared to now. I swear, that baby had a sonic scream. I dropped to the floor, clutching my oversensitive ears.

".-stick-ule!" she demanded, wailing even louder, if that was even possible.

"Here!" I thrust it into her tiny hands, relishing in the happy silence that followed. I waited till she was finished before plopping her on the floor. I wet a paper towel and wiped up the mess she left on the counter. I turned around to pick her up-

But found nothing.

"Bri?" I called out. "Where are you?"

"Damn!" she called out from over to my left, giggling.

I ran over to her, letting my hearing guide my feet. But my ears couldn't here the plethora of toys scattered on the ground. My foot came into contact with one, then another, and before I knew it, my whole body came tumbling to the ground, landing on pokey edges and sharp pieces.

"Shit!" I exclaimed, massaging my knee.

"Shit!" Bri repeated.

Are you serious?

"Bri! Don't say that!"

"Shit!"

I swear to God, I will never, _ever_ have kids.

"Bri! Get over here!"

"Damn! Shit!" She giggled maniacally as she raced for her room. She was quick-

But I was quicker.

I scooped her up, feeling the stickiness against my bare arms from where the popsicle juice had dried on her arms.

"I am so not giving you a bath," I warned.

She remained quiet.

"Bri?"

Silence.

I shook her a little, wondering why she was being so quiet. But that's when I smelled it.

Oh no.

**Max's POV**

"Just one call. Just to see how they're doing?" I pleaded. Fang had the cell phone clutched in his hand. I batted my eyelashes, attempting to flirt.

"You're pathetic, you know that?" he joked.

"I know," I said before snatching the phone, quickly dialing the house number. It rung, once...twice...

"Hello?" A very distressed Iggy answered from the other end.

"Iggy? It's Max. How's everything going?"

"Uh...fine?"

**"**Are you sure? What's Bri doing?"

"Shit! Damn!" Wait a minute...that wasn't Iggy's voice.

"_Did my baby just curse_?"

"No..." Iggy lied.

"Shit! Damn!" Bri's voice traveled over the phone line, like electricity flowing through my veins.

"Iggy, you have two seconds to tell me that that is _not_ my daughter cursing."

"It's not your daughter cursing?" he said a little too quickly.

"Iggy-"

"Listen, I'm trying to change her diaper, and its a little hard when I've got to hold a phone as well-"

"Mine!" Bri explained.

"No, Bri. The phone is mine." Iggy argued.

"Mine!"

"Mine!"

"Mine!"

"Mine!"

The sounds of a scramble filled the earpiece before I heard Bri scream: "Shit! Damn!".

And then the line went blank.

I looked up at Fang, who tried to suppress a smile.

"Next time, we're getting Nudge." I sighed before grabbing the keys.

**Iggy's POV**

The phone tumbled to the floor with a quiet _thud_! Bri giggled as she almost joined the phone on the ground, before my arms caught her. I had to hold my breath. The smell was _everywhere_. I didn't want to, but I was going to have to give this kid a serious bath. I ran to the bathroom, anxious to get away from the stink. I don't know how it got so out of hand. One minute, I was talking with Max on the phone, and the next thing I know, I'm wrestling with a half-naked two year old. I don't know where her diaper landed...

I turned on the faucet, letting the tub fill with clean water. I added soap and let it foam and bubble.

"Come here, you." I slid Bri closer, removing her only clothing left and tossing it into the hamper. She giggled, slapping her tummy.

"Pawp-stick-ule."

"No. Bath."

"No bath."

"No pawp-stick-ule."

She _humphed_, an amazing little clone of Max. I reached over and turned the faucet off, testing the water temperature. I turned back to scoop up Bri-

But she wasn't there.

Again.

"Shit," I muttered.

"Shit is right," Max said from the doorway. I jumped, slopping soap all over myself.

"Shit is way right. It's everywhere." The anger in her voice made me shrink inside myself. I kept my eyes trained on the floor, even though I couldn't see it.

"Where is my daughter?" She commanded.

"I-uh...I."

"Shit! Damn!"

Found her.

Her little feet pitter-patted against the linoleum and Max gasped. "What is my daughter covered in? And why does she have a popsicle? She already had one after dinner!"

Oops.

"Oh, look! There she is!" I said, full of fake happiness. "Looks like I'll just be on my way-"

Max grabbed the collar of my shirt. "You are so dead."

"Shit!" Bri exclaimed.

I agree.

* * *

Tell me what you think, drop a review :D

And if you have a certain oneshot you want me to write, suggest it in a review and I'll get to a-writing.

Edna B.


	3. 2 Questions

Questions

_Iggy answers the questions located in the back of _Fang

By: Edna Baudelaire

Oneshot Number: 2

Note: Iggy answers the questions in the back of _Fang_. The title kind of explains it...

* * *

DO YOU HAVE A JAMAINCAN ACCENT?

If you listen real close, you can hear traces of it. Can't you tell I'm Jamaican by my skin color?

DO YOU MOLT?

Sometimes.

WHAT'S YOUR STAR SIGN?

Leo. Rawr.

HAVE YOU TOLD JEB I LOVE HIM YET?

I'll get right on that...

DOES NOT HAVING A POWER MAKE YOU ANGRY?

That's not true. I have a power. I'm a level 45 wizard on Dungeons and Dragons. So there...

DO YOU KNOW HOW TO DO THE SOULJA BOY?

Who doesn't?

DO YOU USE HAIR PRODUCTS?

Course not. This is all Iggy baby.

DO YOU USE PRODUCTS ON YOUR FEATHERS?

All the time. I just fly down to my local Wal-mart, and viola, birdkid feather softener. It's been really popular in the US as of late...

WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE MOVIE?

The ones I can see...

WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE SONG?

Gotta love that Ashlee Simpson...

WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE SMELL?

Not Total, that's for sure.

DO THESE QUESTIONS MAKE YOU ANGRY?

Eh...not really. There's not much else for me to do. The rest of the Flock are in the living room, watching a movie. I can't really participate, so here I am, answering your stupid questions.

IF I CAME UP TO YOU IN A STREET AND HUGGED YOU, WOULD YOU KILL ME?

Yes.

DO YOU SECRETLY WANT TO BE HUGGED?

What is this? Oprah?

ARE YOU GOING EMO 'CAUSE ANGEL IS STEALING EVERYONE'S POWERS (INCLUDING YOURS)?

Me? Emo? You have the wrong Flock member. I think your looking for the one with the snappy fashion sense...

WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE FOOD?

Not desert rat, that's for damn sure.

WHAT DID YOU HAVE FOR BREAKFAST THIS MORNING?

Whatever JP told me to make.

DID YOU EVEN HAVE BREAKFAST THIS MORNING?

Yup, I just don't really remember it.

DID YOU DIE INSIDE WHEN MAX CHOSE ARI OVER YOU?

She chose Ari over all of us. Stupid git. Uh..him. Not Max. If she see's this, she will _so_ kill me.

DO YOU LIKE MAX?

Yukk no. Too bossy for my taste. I go for more of the understanding, love-Iggy-even-though-he's-blind type of gal.

DO YOU LIKE ME?

Sure. Why the hell not?

DOES IGGY LIKE ME?

-looks around- Uh...yeah. Did I not just answer this question?

DO YOU WRITE DEPRESSING POETRY?

Only because JP doesn't give me enough page time in these books :(

IS IT ABOUT MAX?

Why must you make me repeat myself?

IS IT ABOUT ARI?

No. It's about your mom. So there.

IS IT ABOUT JEB?

Screw you.

ARE YOU GOING TO BLOCK THIS COMMENT?

I'm blind. I can't find the block button.

WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?

I honestly have no idea. Gazzy picked it out for me this morning. For all I know, it might be a pink tutu.

DO YOU WEAR BOXERS OR BRIEFS?

I like to go commando.

DO YOU FIND THIS COMMENT PERSONAL?

Not really. I always tell people whether I wear boxers or briefs. It's proper dinner conversation.

DO YOU WEAR SUNGLASSES?

Do you think I need them?

DO YOU WEAR SUNGLASSES AT NIGHT?

Yeah, to keep the sun out of my blind eyes. At night.

DO YOU SMOKE APPLES, LIKE US?

You must be smoking something else as well...

DO YOU PREFER BLONDES OR BRUNETTES?

Yeah, because I really choose a girl on a hair color I can't even see.

DO YOU LIKE VAMPIRES OR WEREWOLVES.

Are you freakin' serious?

ARE YOU GAY AND JUST PRETENDING TO BE STRAIGHT BY KISSING LISSA?

I never kissed Lissa...but if you say so! You can spread that one around.

Except for the gay part. So not gay.

WERE YOU EXPERIMENTING WITH YOUR SEXUALITY?

OK. Now you are just creeping me out.

WOULD YOU TELL US IF YOU WERE GAY?

Is this survey almost over? Now you're starting to piss me off...

DO YOU SECRETLY LIKE IT WHEN PEOPLE CALL YOU EMO?

Who the hell calls me emo?

ARE YOU EMO?

Can I kill you?

DO YOU LIKE EGGS?

Hell yeah, I like eggs. It's kind of ironic though, because I'm part bird. And birds lay...eggs. Get it?

DO YOU LIKE EATING THINGS?

Of course not. I enjoy starving.

DO YOU SECRETLY THINK YOU'RE THE SEXIEST PERSON IN THE WHOLE WORLD?

Please, honey, I _know_ I'm the sexiest person in the whole world.

DO YOU EVER HAVE DIRTY THOUGHTS ABOUT MAX?

Eww. No. You are a very gross girl, you know that?

HAS ANGEL EVER READ YOUR MIND WHEN YOU WERE HAVING DIRTY THOUGHTS ABOUT MAX AND GONE "OMG" AND YOU WERE LIKE "D:"?

Are you serious?

DO YOU LIKE SPONGEBOB?

Hell no.

DO YOU EVER HAVE DIRTY THOUGHTS ABOUT SPONGEBOB?

Hell yeah.

CAN YOU COOK?

Yup. It's about the only thing I can do.

DO YOU LIKE TO COOK?

Of course. I like to make sure my Flock doesn't die of starvation, if that's what you mean.

ARE YOU, LIKE, A HOUSEWIFE?

A little. :D

DO YOU SECRETLY HAVE INNER TURMOIL?

Well, if it was a secret, why would I tell you?

DO YOU WANT TO BE UNDA DA SEA?

No. 'Cause I would drown.

DO YOU THINK IT'S NOT TOO LATE, IT'S NEVER TOO LATE?

Nah. It's too late.

WHERE DID YOU LEARN TO PLAY POKER?

The Blind Person Academy of Poker Playing.

DO YOU HAVE A GOOD POKER FACE?

You tell me.

OF COURSE YOU HAVE A GOOD POKER FACE. DOES FANG HAVE A GOOD POKER FACE?

Thankyou. To see if Fang had a poker face, I'd have to be able to see. And since I don't have that ability, I can't tell you. Bummer. Must be so hard for you not to know.

DO YOU LIKE POKING PEOPLE, HARD?

I would like to poke you hard. And get your mind out of the gutter.

ARE YOU FANGALICIOUS?

If I do say so myself...

Wait a minute...I'm blind. How am I reading these questions?

It's a miracle!

OR YOU JUST HAVE YOUR COMPUTER PROGRAMMED TO TALK TO YOU, LIKE MOST BLIND PEOPLE DO...

Screw you...

* * *

Tell me what you think! And remember, if you have an idea for a oneshot that you want to see, just tell yours truly, and I will get to writing. There is no way I can come up with 100 by myself. So I'm going to need your help. So, review away!

Edna B.


	4. 3 Art Class

Art Class

By: Edna Baudelaire

Oneshot Number: 3

**Note**: Set during book 2, when the Flock attends school while they are staying with Anne. Iggy goes to art class and is a little lost. Thank goodness Tess is there to...ahem...show him the ropes ;D

* * *

Stupid art...

Stupid colors that I can't even see...

Why would they put a blind kid in an art class, you may ask?

Hell if I know.

All I know is that the overenthusiastic teacher wrapped an apron around my waist, tied it too-tight around my neck, and shoved me towards an easel, paint in hand. Light music playing in the background mixed in with the whispered murmurs of the other students.

And hey, what do you know, they were asking the same thing I was! Why the Hell was the blind kid in an art class?

Beats me.

I swallowed, training my sightless eyes forward, my fingers brushing along the canvas, completely lost. Fang didn't have this class with me. It was just me, myself and I, left to fend for ourselves.

And I wasn't doing too well.

"Children! Children! Pick up your brushes and begin!" The teacher swept about the room, looking over shoulders, occasionally criticizing, but mainly humming to the music. My fingers flooded over the drawer at the bottom of the easel and I took out a paintbrush, or at least, something that felt like a paintbrush. I held it in my hand, attempting to look like I was working.

"You have it upside down," A voice said from behind me. I jumped, a blush immediately creeping into my cheeks. I swiftly turned my paintbrush around, but didn't know where to go from there. I mumbled a small "thanks", expecting the girl to leave, but she edged closer.

"You're new." It wasn't a question. I just nodded, afraid to embarrass myself even more.

"Do you need help?" _Hell yeah I do. I'm a blind kid in art class._

Instead I said: "I can take care of myself." Way to reach out to others, Ig. Great job being _social_.

"Are you sure about that?" she asked. She was standing right next to me, only a couple inches away. I could feel her breath on my neck.

"No," I said, letting out an exasperated sigh of irritation. "I have no idea what I'm even doing in this class. Even if I were to miraculously paint something, there's no way I would be able to see it."

She rested her hand on my shoulder. I almost shied away. _Almost_.

"Art's not about seeing what you've done. It's about feeling," she explained.

I grumbled. "I wouldn't even know where to begin, much less what color I'm using."

"I'll help you. I'll be your eyes. How about that?"

Are you serious? I would never let anybody help-

"Sure," I said, my throat dry. She repositioned herself, holding my hand in hers, guiding the brush towards the canvas. I thought my cheeks were on fire before, but that's nothing compared to now. It spread like wildfire, over my body. Her hand was warm against mine, adding to the fire.

"What color do you want first?" she asked, her breath tickling my ear. I swear, she was doing that one purpose. She could probably feel the trembles racing down my spine.

Oh well, I didn't mind.

"Uh...does it matter?"

"Of course it matters! What are you feeling? What color describes your mood?"

The words "red" and "fire" almost tumbled from my mouth. I quickly shut them back in, refraining from making a total fool of myself. Instead I said "blue" and mumbled something about being calm.

Which she totally didn't buy.

"Puh-lease," she said. "You're anything but calm. Tell the truth."

I sighed. "Red," I admitted, feeling the exact color plastered to my face.

She chuckled. "Red it is." Her hand guided mine, dipping the brush into the red paint. She directed me towards the canvas, and let me go.

The fire was gone.

"Now what?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Paint."

"Paint what?"

"What you're feeling."

I closed my eyes, wishing I could just leave. I was embarrassed as it was, listening to the other kids gossiping. They thought I couldn't hear. Sometimes, I wish I couldn't.

"So weird..."

"Why is she talking to him?"

"What a freak..."

"He's blind. Shouldn't he be with the special treatment kids?"

"What's he doing here?"

"He's ruining my inspiration."

I shut them out. I shut them all out.

And painted.

The entire time, I could feel her presence behind me. She watched me, the intensity of her gaze burning the back of my neck.

I had absolutely no idea what the Hell I was painting.

But I was painting.

"Good job," she said, edging closer.

"Thanks." I dipped my brush in another color, not even asking. "I never caught your name."

"Tess," she replied, her elbow brushing mine. "You?"

"Iggy."

"Well, Iggy. You are a marvelous painter."

I blinked. "Really?" I squinted at the canvas. "Doesn't look too good to me."

She giggled, lightly nudging my arm. "Of course it's good. It came from the heart, not from your sight. And that kind of artwork is the best."

I smiled, running my paintbrush over the canvas in random directions.

"Hey, you've got a spot of paint on your face," Tess commented.

My hand flew up towards my skin, not feeling anything. "Where?"

"Right there." She pointed it out with her paintbrush, which was full of paint. It felt wet and cold on my skin. I could hear her chuckling.

"Really?" I asked. "Because I see a spot on _your_ face." Before she could comprehend what was happening, I ran my paintbrush through the air, miraculously catching her chin.

She froze. "You've got good aim. For a blind kid."

"Thanks."

"But now," she said, her voice touched with playful menace. "It's on."

Her paintbrush swiped across my arm, and mine ran across her apron. Paint flew everywhere, in every direction. Some kids backed up, murmuring with annoyed tones. Tess and I didn't care. We giggled-

No. _She_ giggled.

_I_ laughed. A _manly_ laugh.

Ahem...For the first time all day, I was actually enjoying myself. I know, me, the blind kid, enjoying himself at school. Weird, huh?

And as Tess's paintbrush accidentally swiped across my teeth, I realized that if it weren't for her, I would still be staring at a blank canvas, silently seething and cursing under my breath. If it weren't for her, I would still be lost.

"Children! What is going on?"

Oops.

The teacher waltzed over, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"My, my-"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. C, I should have known better," Tess apologized.

"I'll start cleaning. I am so sorry-" I started.

"W-what? What are you talking about. I'm staring at the most beautiful piece of art these old eyes have ever seen."

Rewind. _What_?

"Mrs. C?" Tess asked.

"The colors, they are so simple. The brushstrokes, so true. And all these paint splatters, so free," Mrs. C exclaimed. "Children, gather around! This is something you should all learn from! You need to paint more like this young man!"

She rambled on, talking about the truth and beauty in the painting that I "accidentally" made. But I wasn't listening. All I could hear was Tess's light breathing, and the feeling of her soft, warm hand wrapped around mine.

I love art class.

* * *

Sorry this one took so long. I've been really busy lately, while still trying to update my other stories. I promise to try to update more :D

Review? Please?

Edna B.


	5. 4 Ari's Funeral

Ari's Funeral

By: Edna Baudelaire

Oneshot Number: 4

Note: A friend of mine just passed away yesterday, Tuesday August 10, 2010. He was only 2 years older than myself. He taught me everything I know about performing and dance. He opened that door of opportunity for me, and without him, it would still be closed. Everything I'm feeling is building up inside, and the only way to let it out is to write. Hope you enjoy this one. I dedicate this oneshot to Randal Hilton, who dances in Heaven as we speak.

* * *

Iggy's POV

_I hate funerals_, I thought as I adjusted the jacket of the monkey suit Max forced me to wear. It was tight in all the wrong places and incredibly itchy. Fang nudged my arm swiftly, mumbling something about staying still. But I couldn't. Even though I was blind, the harsh morning sun still filtered in through my eyelids, searing my sightless irises. There was absolutely no breeze, nothing to ease the heat. The small beads of sweat slowly rolled down my face, into my eyes, my mouth.

I was drowning.

At a dead man's funeral.

I coughed lightly, brushing away the drops of sweat, tugging on my collar which seemed way tighter than it did when Fang first put it on. I couldn't breath. The air outside held no oxygen. I gasped for air, but couldn't find any.

"I need a tissue," Total said, trotting over towards Max's general direction. Well, we all need something Total. You need a tissue, I need air. Ari needed a second chance.

We all don't get what we want.

I could hear the girls sniffling, wiping away the tears which hit the ground like meteors. I fought to hold my own inside. No, I didn't know Ari well. And when I was with him, I treated him as if he weren't there anyway. But his death has made me realize that life is way too short and way too unpredictable to hold grudges. You never know when that person is going to be whisked away. Who knows, Ari and I could have been best friends.

Now I'll never know, because he's dead, trapped in a coffin, six feet under the damn ground.

Dirt rained down upon the wooden box as Angel spoke: "Bye Ari. I didn't know you for very long and I didn't like you for a lot of it. But I liked you at the end. You helped us. You saved us. I'll miss you. And I didn't mind your fangs or anything."

My throat closed up. This wasn't happening.

The Gasman stepped up to the grave. "I'm sorry about what they did to you. It wasn't your fault." He stepped backwards silently, and I snaked my arm around him. I could feel his shoulders shaking with sorrow.

Nudge was next, slowly and delicately tossing a handful of dirt over Ari's body. She tried to make a speech, but only managed to choke and sob. Max whispered something in her ear before leading her away. Her soft whimpers echoed in my head.

I could feel Max's gaze, hotter than the sun, burning my skin. What could I possibly say to this dead body beneath the ground? Would he even hear me? Do I look at the coffin, or to heaven? What do I say?

Instead, I just raised my hand and dropped it, managing a gruff "I don't have anything to say". When in reality, I had a whole novel of things to say. But I shut it in, afraid of the tears that would surely fall from my eyes.

Fang went next, followed my Max, but I heard nothing. The dead ringing in my ears multiplied. Now, not only was I blind to the outside world, I was also deaf. In this state, nothing could touch me, nothing could hurt me. In my own little quiet, sightless world, I was all by myself. There were no funerals, no crying, no pain. It was just me, with nothing to worry about. But no matter how hard I tried, that world kept crumbling around me, the walls shattering. I couldn't put up anything strong enough to keep out the agony of death. It would always seep through the cracks, dark, sinister wisps of smoke weaving in and out of my thoughts, refusing to let go until it's all I can think of. Until it consumes my senses.

Until I feel the salty tears rolling down my face, like weakness flowing from a waterfall. I raise my free hand to quickly brush them away before anyone sees, but instead I capture one between my fingers and let it slide down, catching it in my palm, letting is sit there. That was my sorrow. A tear, held in the palm of my hand, glistening in the midday sun. That was it. This tiny tear speaks so many words.

More of them flowed over my cheeks, but I let them be. If each drop was a word, then my face was telling a story. I decided to leave the book open, for everyone else to read.

"Come on Iggy," Max said softly. "It's time to go."

I turned to leave with her, but not before stepping up to the grave and dropping one, small tear onto the fresh earth.

I didn't know how to communicate with Ari before, but now I knew. Everything I was feeling could be spoken through one, solitary tear.

_Goodbye._


	6. 5 Waking Up Blind

Waking Up Blind

By: Edna Baudelaire

Oneshot Number: 5

**Note: I've always wanted two write this oneshot. I decided to rewind a bit, to those precious moments Iggy had before he had his eyesight taken. So don't be confused in the beginning. Here you go:**

Iggy's POV

I grudgingly wrenched my sleep ridden eyelids apart. Small, decadent rays of light, leaked in through the barred window in the corner. Creeping farther toward the door of my cage, I kept my eyes fixed on the light, thankful for something, anything that differed from the usual artificial light that filled every space in this Hell. I could hear the others around me, breathing slowly, each one light and even. Again, I was the first, and only one awake.

I reveled in the silence, enjoying the miniscule sunlight. _My_ miniscule sunlight. I looked around. No one else was awake. I had the light all to myself. My chapped lips, cracked with dirt and grime, slowly rose into what I thought was a smile. I couldn't really remember what one was anymore...

My hand slowly crept through the bars of my cage, and the light cascaded over my fingertips. I rotated it, staring as the light flowed like water, from one finger to the other. It was so beautiful, and right there, within my reach. But no matter what, my delicate fingers refused to capture it. It was free.

Unlike me.

My hands retreated, gripping the bars of the cage, each finger, it's own lock. I started to tremble, the shivers racing down my spine. My eyes closed, blocking out the sunlight, blocking out _my_ sunlight, the one thing that kept me alive.

And before I knew it, the familiar sound of footsteps interrupted my thoughts. I shrank back into the cage, the cold metal biting my skin like a thousand hungry wolves. I drew my knees up to my chin and closed my eyes. Maybe, _just maybe_, this time I would open them, and he would be gone. Maybe, my nightmare would end, and I would wake up somewhere else, anywhere else. I would have a mother and a father, and maybe even a little sister who would drool on me, and I would just chuckle and brush it off, while she beams at me. Maybe, _just maybe_, it wouldn't be the Bad Man, coming to take me away again. And maybe, _just maybe_, it won't be another surgery or experiment.

But all the _maybe's_ in the world could not crumble this foreboding nightmare that suffocated me. The Bad Man bent down low, his shiny shoes squeaking on the linoleum. He leaned into the sunlight, _my_ sunlight, contaminating it with his maliciousness. It turned dark in his presence. It wasn't my sunlight anymore, it was his darkness. It played off of his pristine lab coat, the brightness searing my irises. The Bad Man swiftly swiped a key from his pocket and slid it in the lock. As he turned it, his eyes remained locked on mine. His were hungry, and to me, he was no human. He was an animal, acting on instinct. No human could be this cruel, this distanced from humanity. His lips rose up, revealing his teeth, sharp and ready to attack. I shuffled farther into my cage, ordering my body to melt into the cracks.

"Come on," the Bad Man ordered, holding out his hand. I could see a syringe in the other and my whole body froze.

"Please-" I whimpered, my trembles rattling the cage. The room was silent. No one was sleeping anymore, no one was breathing. I looked around and met each pair of eyes. Each one of them resembled a deer in the headlights, frozen.

The Bad Man reached farther in my cage, his claws closing about my small wrist. I yelped and tried to grab on to something, but there was nothing. He dragged me out of my only sanctuary, his pincers cutting off the circulation in my arm as he locked up my cage again. He forced me towards the door, and I wrenched my head around to get one last glimpse of the sunlight, _my_ sunlight.

The Bad Man's grip was like fire, burning my nerves to the point of no recovery. He dragged me through the artificially lit hallway, and I suddenly felt dirty compared to it. The walls were so white, so pristine, so clean. There wasn't even a speck of imperfection. I looked down at my clothes, imbedded with grime and wrinkles. My skin felt gritty and course, like sandpaper. I attempted to shrink into myself as other white coats shuffled by, the disgust prominent on their faces. I walked straight behind the Bad Man, hoping his body would shield me from the the evils that fled this corridor.

He stopped outside an unmarked door, opened it and pointed inside, as if saying "This is your funeral, not mine." Without thinking, my feet automatically shuffled inside the small room and I noticed a solitary, metal operating table in the center. I turned around , but the door was already shut, and I was alone.

Trembling, I slowly walked over to the table and sat down, the metal biting my skin. I tried to ignore it and lowered my back. There was no use in fighting them anymore. It would only end in more pain. The tears on my face turned to icicles in the frozen room, but it was beyond my control. They kept coming, flowing, freely and without order. They had no one to control them. Who was I to tell them to stop? I was just the freak bird kid. I couldn't do anything.

The door to the room opened and closed and I shut my eyes tightly, awaiting the pinch in my arm that I knew would be coming. My arm tensed, waiting. But nothing came. I cracked open my crusty eyes, focusing on a white coat waiting in the corner of the room, his eyes pleading and full of sorrow.

I opened my mouth to speak, to ask him what was going on, but the door opened again, and a team of white coats strolled in, stretching their rubber gloves, filling syringes, and arranging numerous pointed objects on a table. I stared at my reflection on the ceiling, which was made of mirror. I stared back at myself, noting the dirt, the tears. The picture crumbled as I noted my eyes, filled with terror. They looked smaller than ever, helpless. I turned away from my somber reflection, promising that if I ever made it out of this Hell, I would personally see that I would do anything I could to stay away, and never be touched by the evils that lurk within these closed walls.

Ever again.

"Hold still," One of the white coats ordered as his claws trapped my arm, holding it down on the icy table. I did as I was told and closed my eyes, relaxing my tense body. And then I felt the pinch.

And then I was gone.

…

Pictures swirled around my mind, making me dizzy, sick. I saw the mutants who were trapped around me, deers in the headlights. I saw the white coats, their noses transforming into blood-dripping muzzles, their hands clawing at my cage. I saw myself, upside down, and small. _So small_. But most importantly, I saw my eyes. Those eyes, that pleaded, cried, and shouted for help. But no one came. No one ever came.

I slowly cracked my eyes open, like a rusted window, and the pictures vanished into the darkness. It must be nighttime. No light, artificial or natural, found its way into my lonely cage. My hands fluttered over the bars, trying to recall exactly what had happened. I remember the Bad Man, and the lone metal table, the feel of ice on my skin, the dreaded pinch...

And then darkness.

Was I still asleep, under the influence of the drug?

No, I could feel the bars of my cage, feel the curve of my back as I sat up. I could taste the stale air in my dry mouth, and smell the others around me. I squinted in the darkness, trying to see something, anything. I looked in the direction of the barred window, where my sunlight usually streams in. It slowly dawned on me. Every night, I could see the moonlight streaming in from that window. The only time I couldn't was when there was no moon. But I knew there was a moon, there had to be. Last night, I stared up at the half moon as the others around me slept soundly. So tonight, there had to be a moon, which meant there had to be moonlight. _There had to be_.

I squinted hard, my breath quickening, panicking. My hands furiously traveled along the cage in the inky darkness, feeling everything that my eyes couldn't see.

"Turn on the lights," I muttered, trying to stand in my too-small cage, even though I knew I couldn't. "Turn on the lights!" Sobs racked my body and I pushed against the walls, my nails boring down on them. My fists pounded wherever they could, but I could only feel the pain, I couldn't see it. "Turn on the lights!"

"Shut up, and go back to sleep," one of my neighbors mumbled, before turning back over. It was the blonde girl, the one who always gave me hard looks, as if she was judging me, as if she was trying to take my sunlight.

"_Turn on the lights_!" I shouted, pounding against my cage like a frightened animal.

"What's going on?" someone else cut in.

"_Turn on the lights_!" I pleaded, sobs contorting my words.

"They are on!" my neighbor shouted.

I froze. The only sound in the room was my harsh breathing.

"They are not! You're lying!" I yelled, but I didn't resume trying to break out. I thumped back down, blinking madly.

"The lights _are_ on," the boy next to me commented, his voice alarmed.

"No."

"Yes."

"What's going on?" asked a small voice on the other end of the room.

"I can't see the light. I can't see _my_ light!" My hands frantically ran though my hair, and that's when I felt the bandage. My fingertips trailed along the material, and rested on my eyes. I furiously ripped the bandage off, only to be greeted by the never-ending darkness.

"The lights are all on. What do you mean you can't see it?" My fingers raced alone my eyelids, and over to the corners. And then I felt the stitches.

"What happened to my eyes? I can't see!"

"Let me have a look. Turn to your right." my neighbor ordered, his voice soft, somber. I did, using all of my energy to hold my head up. "There are stitches on both sides of your eyes. There's a lot of red. But..." he stopped.

"But what?" I asked, already sort of knowing the answer.

"But, you're eyes aren't their normal color. I remember, they used to be brown, almost black."

"What color are they now?" I asked, frantic.

"Fang, what does he mean-" the girl on my right cut in.

"_What color are they now_?" I asked again, my voice cold.

He paused before continuing. "Light blue, almost white."

The entire room froze, including myself, including time. "No."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I'm blind." The words sent a shock wave through my body. The numbness consumed my senses, and I couldn't feel a thing. Not a thing. Not even when the white coats came back, dragged me out of my cage, sat me on the table of ice, and commented about how their experiment failed.

Not a thing.

The only thing I could concentrate on, was my sunlight.

_My sunlight_.

Which I would never see again.

It was gone.

And so was I.

* * *

**Tell me what you guys though. I had an awesome time writing it, and I really hope that you guys love it :D**

**To all the other Iggy lovers.**

**Edna B.**


End file.
